#I had a report to write

[clonerightsagenda]

Had a dream that I got hired to deal with a haunting and I was like you know my blog is a bit right, I don't actually believe in ghosts unfortunately, but it turns out the place was actually haunted and the ghost was pretty pissed off at me for sticking my nose into it. So I went ok, they hired me for *my* skillset, so I started looking shit up and eventually found one oldish book on local urban legends speculating that the ghost was a woman who lived on the property when it used to be a low income lodging house who lost a baby and buried it in the yard, so I dug around and found the remains, which were in an area that the place I was hired by (I think it was a branch of NARA? which is weird, why would they need to hire an outside researcher) was planning to build a new addition on. So by the end of the dream I was going 'yeah ok I have two proposals, one you put these remains in a silver box, rebury it, keep on with your construction, and hope that'll do it, OR you add a covered walkway to your building plans, connect the old building to the new building, and have a nice little courtyard area with a plaque where we rebury the remains, maybe that would make her happy' except I was hired to do research at a history and records institution so I couldn't just write that report based on Vibes, so the rest of the dream was consumed with me trying to figure out which local newspapers would help me confirm the ID and make my case better than one speculative sentence in a trashy book. So yeah. Dreamed I was a ghostbuster but the real core of the dream was the challenges of public history when working with regular people who don't make the historical record very often. Wish you well, dead lady. I was really trying to get you that courtyard.

[inkskinned]

for a while i lived in an old house; the kind u.s americans don't often get to live in - living in a really old house here is super expensive. i found out right before i moved out that the house was actually so old that it features in a poem by emily dickinson.

i liked that there were footprints in front of the sink, worn into the hardwood. there were handprints on some of the handrails. we'd find secret marks from other tenants, little hints someone else had lived and died there. and yeah, there was a lot wrong with the house. there are a lot of DIY skills you learn when you are a grad student that cannot afford to pay someone else to do-it-for-ya. i shared the house with 8 others. the house always had this noise to it. sometimes that noise was really fucking awful.

in the mornings though, the sun would slant in thick amber skiens through the windows, and i'd be the first one up. i'd shuffle around, get showered in this tub that was trying to exit through the floor, get my clothes on. i would usually creep around in the kitchen until it was time to start waking everyone else up - some of them required multiple rounds of polite hey man we gotta go knocks. and it felt... outside of time. a loud kind of quiet.

the ghosts of the house always felt like they were humming in a melody just out of reach. i know people say that the witching hour happens in the dark, but i always felt like it occurred somewhere around 6:45 in the morning. like - for literal centuries, somebody stood here and did the dishes. for literal centuries, somebody else has been looking out the window to this tree in our garden. for literal centuries, people have been stubbing their toes and cracking their backs and complaining about the weather. something about that was so... strangely lovely.

i have to be honest. i'm not a history aficionado. i know, i know; it's tragic of me. i usually respond to "this thing is super old" by being like, wow! cool! and moving on. but this house was the first time i felt like the past was standing there. like it was breathing. like someone else was drying their hands with me. playing chess on the sofa. adding honey to their tea.

i grew up in an old town. like, literally, a few miles off of walden pond (as in of the walden). (also, relatedly, don't swim in walden, it's so unbelievably dirty). but my family didn't have "old house" kind of money. we had a barely-standing house from the 70's. history existed kind of... parallel to me. you had to go somewhere to be in history. your school would pack you up on a bus and take you to some "ye olden times" place and you'd see how they used to make glass or whatever, and then you'd go home to your LEDs. most museums were small and closed before 5. you knew history was, like, somewhere, but the only thing that was open was the mcdonalds and the mall.

i remember one of my seventh grade history teachers telling us - some day you'll see how long we've been human for and that thing has been puzzling me. i know the scientific number, technically.

the house had these little scars of use. my floors didn't actually touch the walls; i had to fill them with a stopgap to stop the wind. other people had shoved rags and pieces of newspaper. i know i've lost rings and earring backs down some of the floorboards. i think the raccoons that lived in our basement probably have collected a small fortune over the years. i complain out loud to myself about how awful the stairs are (uneven, steep, evil, turning, hard to get down while holding anything) and know - someone else has said this exact same thing.

when i was packing up to leave and doing a final deep cleaning, i found a note carved in the furthest corner in the narrow cave of my closet. a child's scrawled name, a faded paint handprint, the scrangly numbers: 1857.

we've been human for a long time. way back before we can remember.

[thesherrinfordfacility]

yeah no this is actually my favourite response so far

[asexualactivities]

Asexual visits nude beach!

You WON'T BELIEVE what happened next! Hear all the WILD details below!

There were bugs, the water was too shallow to do anything in, I got sand in my shoes, and I left before I could get sunburned.

[writterings]

me with my 18 year old students that i teach at a college

[ricesinspo]

☆ — reactions to screaming and crying II. by @ricesinspo, credits appreciated!

— ☆ —

[★] running to someone else because you're not sure what to do, "help! they're crying, what do i do?????"

[★] running to someone else, but to 'report misbehavior', "ugh they're being annoying! stop them!!"

[★] asking "what's wrong?", only to give half-hearted advice that is barely assuring, if even at all.

[★] sitting by their side; as in being just there. perhaps you're not quite sure how to help.

[★] staying quiet. saying nothing. staring disapprovingly for a while, then, "... are you done."

[★] "you know this is hard for me too, right? you're making this even harder. so stop it."

[★] "what's wrong with you?! say it! don't just scream and cry as if anyone's going to understand!" (<- is the person making it difficult for them to open up)

[★] "you know crying won't solve anything, right?"

[★] "what happened? this isn't like you at all..."

[★] ^ the above but more condescending, "where did my good and cheerful child/friend/[relationship]/[name] go?"

[★] "suck it up."

— ☆ —

[chaoswarfare]

dp x dc prompt #49

danny and damian twin au, but it’s crack. :))

danny and damian get into being really competitive at a very young age in the league, and even on their very rare off time they secretly played games, even if they often got out of hand, nobody ever seemed to care so long as they were improving.

during one of their first missions, it’s starting to go really bad, and damian figures it out before danny. he makes up a game of hide and seek, and danny scrambles off to look for a hiding spot while damian does the same, except he knows it’s because there’s someone after them. by the time backup arrives and the threat is taken care of, the only thing they’re able to find is a scrap of cloth and a splatter of danny’s blood.

eight years later, the two lock eyes in a gotham alleyway while danny tries to drag an unconscious mugger through a wall.

“oh dang. i guess i lost hide and seek than.”

“danny??? where have you been, it’s been eight years?!?!”

nobody ever challenges danny to hide and seek again after that.

(edit- sorry for any typos, this is hour 47 of no sleep)

[gravyhoney]

I hope I am like this to some of you.

[oetscop]

this is kinda old and i almost didnt post it. i kinda gave up on making a full rainer ref like i did with daniel soooo take this ^}^

this is after 1997 and before 2000 when he went missing for good.

[mxwhore]

[banned-for-horny]

How Does That Make You Feel?

Robin needs therapy after the dock events. Dr. Harper is happy to help.

tw: noncon, terrible therapy advice, description of abuse/violence, Sorry Robin

I'm gonna consider this my final bit of robin whump to cap off the sorry robin save file before starting a new one lol. happy halloween!

The office is...cozy. Clinical, with its white walls and sterile smell, but softened by the yellow glow of a standing lamp and the giant couch that sinks under Robin's weight. It's different from the office that you described when you attended counseling sessions, but you also paid your rent on time and didn't need such comforts like this. You didn't feel the need to keep your back to a wall with your eyes on the door at all times.

"Are you sure you don't want a snack?"

Robin flinches, spine snapping to attention. "I-N-No, I'm fine. Thank you, though."

Across the room, sitting back in his own overstuffed chair, is Dr. Harper. He gives Robin a pleasant smile as a pen twirls between his fingers. "Of course. Remember, it's free. All you need to do is ask."

Robin tries to smile at that. It's a kind gesture, but taking food from strangers still doesn't sit well with him. "I'll...remember."

"Good. Now then!" Dr. Harper shifts, just enough to allow his left ankle to rest on his right knee. "Why don't we get started? How have you been since our last session?"

"I've..." Robin stalls, nails biting into his knees. "It's been...bad."

Dr. Harper's brows lift. "How so?"

"I-Well..." Again, he stalls, more out of guilt than actual hesitancy. He's gotten better at this, collecting his hazy thoughts and molding them into proper words. When he'd first had his solo sessions with Dr. Harper, it took him an hour just to stop sobbing. But those had been about the...the memories at the docks. This time..."I-I had a really bad dream. It's been...bothering me ever since."

"Oh?" Dr. Harper twirls his pen. "Describe it to me, if you can."

And, really, Robin should have been prepared for this. Dr. Harper likes to hear things in vivid detail. He says it helps ground a person to reality, keeps them from dissociating or avoiding the truth. It does help, but just thinking of what Robin is about to say makes his stomach churn. "I-It...It was about my friend." His gnawed nails scratch his palms as he pulls his feet onto the couch, tucking them under his thighs. "The one who recommended you?"

"Ah, I remember them," Dr. Harper says with a fond smile. You were an excellent patient, apparently. It doesn't make the knot in Robin's stomach any looser. "What happened in your dream that involved them?"

Robin hugs his stomach, slowly hunching over in some attempt at shielding himself. Phantom aches begin to throb under his skin, fists and rods and whatever toys they could find beating into his torso until he could barely breath. Details, he tells himself. Details.

Click!

"I-I hurt them," Robin forces out. "I would...We were in a room, a-and I was ch-choking them. I don't remember why, but-" But he was squeezing hard and tight, sinking his fingers deep into the back of your throat. Even now, he remembers the way your muscles convusled under his palms.

"Focus," Dr. Harper calls, followed by another click! of his pen. "What else happened?"

Robin's stomach only sinks. No matter what he did, you wouldn't stop thrashing. He remembers that. He tried to punch you, but pulling a hand away gave you to opening to get away, and when Robin tried to chase you, he-

Click!

"I-I was stuck." Robin's voice catches in his throat. "There was this-this chain and when I tried to follow them I couldn't run and they..." You didn't wait for him. You ran and ran and left him behind. Robin doesn't realize he's crying until the tears hit his pants. He grabs the tissue from its box and dabs at his cheek, struggling to breathe through his clogged nose. "I...think I woke up after that."

Dr. Harper hums, twirling his pen as Robin grabs another tissue. "It sounds like you have some budding resentment towards your friend."

"What? No," flies out of Robin instinctually. "T-They're my best friend. I-We've been together ever since I can remember."

"And yet you dreamt of hurting them. Why do you think that is?"

"I-I don't know."

Dr. Harper's smile thins. "May I posit a theory, then?" At the orphan's nod, the doctor sets his foot down and points at him with his pen. "You're upset at them because they're the reason why you were sent to the docks."

Click!

"W-What?" Robin recoils as Dr. Harper nods, apparently satisfied with his assumption. "I-That-it wasn't their fault. It was my own-"

"But they're responsible for you, aren't they?" Dr. Harper asks. "I recall you mentioning that they help pay your rent at the loft."

Ah, right. That little lie. Robin almost forgets that you and he had agreed to not tell the doctor about Bailey's payments to avoid even more threats on their life. Still, Robin nods slowly, massaging his legs. "Right. Why would I-I hate them for helping me?"

"I don't think they're really helping you." Dr. Harper frowns, now, apparently serious enough to open his eyes fully instead of remaining half-lidded, like he's finally awake instead of operating in a dream. "Let us change subjects for a moment: Why do you think you've been targeted more often?"

Because I'm weak, Robin thinks. His mouth falters, but from the way the doctor's frown deepens, he doubts he'll need to say it aloud.

"Perhaps," Dr. Harper says, "but in comparison to who?"

"To...my friend?" Robin guesses.

"Precisesly. Now, if you don't mind, could you stand?" Dr. Harper rises from his own seat in time with Robin. The doctor is quite small compared to him, but that is to be expected; Robin is one of the tallest orphans-actually, he's one of the tallest students in the school, beaten out only by Whitney and some upperclassmen. The only thing stopping him from really filling out his frame is his restricted diet courtesy of Bailey. "You make for quite the intimidating figure at first glance. Your friend, on the other hand..."

You're shorter than Robin. You're smaller than Robin. In fact, Robin knows he can pick you up easily and has done it plenty of times before. Outside of physicality, though, you...you trump him. You've put people in the hospital before. The police haven't been able to put you away simply because you had enough connections to get rid of evidence, and if the evidence can't disappear, then you just use your fists.

Click!

"They only target you because your friend is too dangerous to hurt." Dr. Harper lifts his pen and presses into Robin's sternum. All it takes is a single tap - with a click! of his pen, he pushes the orphan back into the couch. "You're kind, Robin. Too kind."

Robin's protests escape him when he lands. The doctor stares down with a frown.

"Your friend is supposed to protect you."

Click!

"And yet all of this has only come about because of them."

Click!

"Does that not annoy you?"

"I..." Robin wants to say no, it doesn't, but that smoldering heat he'd buried in his gut is starting to spread, eating away at the guilt until his fingers curl. "Y-Yes."

Dr. Harper steps back, twirling his pen as his brow lifts. "Yes, what?"

"It annoys me."

Click!

"Then why not tell them?"

"Because I can't," Robin says. The heat claws up his chest, circling the point where Dr. Harper had hit him with the pen and bleeding into his lungs. "T-They're just trying to protect me-"

The doctor frowns at that answer. "And they didn't do a very good job of that, did they?" He leans down this time to stare Robin right in the face, pen clicking behind his back. "How long were you at the docks, Robin?"

Robin's blood freezes. Five days. The sun rose and set five different times.

Click!

"What did they do to you, Robin?"

Hurt him. Beat him-no. Details. They started with treating him like bellboy on a cruise, made him walk around naked and serve the people while their hands scratched and slapped and punched. And when he dropped a bottle of wine worth £20,000, they forced him to kneel in the shards and clean it with his tongue. And after that, they used whips and rods and laughed when he couldn't keep count. Someone slathered him in some pink cream and taunted him when his cock felt like it was going to explode from how hard it pulsed. Before that, though, they used clothespins to pinch his foreskin back and after that they'd used ropes to strangle him and see how close they could get him to pass out before loosening up just enough to breath before trying again.

Click!

"And why did they do all of that, Robin?"

Because of you.

Ding!

Robin blinks as Dr. Harper's waist chimes. He reaches for his pager, grimacing at whatever notification flashes on his screen. "Seems we're having an emergency," he says and pockets the device. "I'm afraid we'll have to cut this session a little short."

"That's okay," Robin says slowly, thoughts still a mess of his own anger. He rises and clears his throat, massaging the ache out of his hands. "I-Um...what should I do next time? Or..."

Dr. Harper hums, tapping his pen against his lip. It stretches into a chipper smile that shuts his eyes and sends shivers down the boy's back. "Why don't you invite your friend to the next session? Sometimes it's easier to tell someone how they feel when there's a third party to intervene if something goes wrong."

-

Robin is a XX-year old male student with a prior history of social instability. He is an orphan with no known relatives. His legal guardian is the orphanage's caretaker. He lives in a flat with a roommate, who also lived in the same orphanage. Robin attends classes regularly at the local school and works part-time at a café. Recently, Robin reports feelings of insecurity and self-doubt, with the source of these feelings stemming from his roommate. Robin

Dr. Harper huffs, glaring at the report before him. He never was one for writing case summaries. Much of his work required direct, hands-on approaches and left very little time for him to accurately write down notes. He could have an assistant do it for him, of course, but...Robin is a special case.

"Rob-Ghck!"

Dr. Harper looks up just in time. Robin's right hand crushes your mouth while the other frantically claws at his shorts. Your knees are hiked, legs kicking, but whatever hits you land only spurs the orphan on. The curve of your waist bucks and twists, muscles taut under your exposed skin. Huh. Seems you really do have the better physique.

A muffled hiccup draws his gaze to your face. There are tears already spilling down your cheeks, hands clawing at Robin's wrist. His mad fervor begins to slow. The hand crushing your face begins to relax.

Click!

Robin's nails bite into your cheek, and the struggle renews in earnest.

Dr. Harper shifts in his seat, sitting up to ease the strain of his trousers against his erection. Where you have your strength, Robin outweighs you in his rage. He frees his erection in a few frantic tears of his shorts. He doesn't even bother looking for a condom when he sinks into you. It's not like those dockworkers would have used a condom on the poor orphan.

The pained wail that escapes you makes his blood sing.

Dr. Harper readjusts his clipboard to shield himself, then quietly unbuckles his belt. He doubts he needs to be careful, really, but Robin is a bit...tetchy. Best not to draw his attention right now.

Click!

He palms his erection just as Robin begins to thrust, each snap of his hip jolting your entire frame. The orphan's body nearly covers yours as he curls into you. Your legs have frozen around his sides - out of pain or fear or resignation, Dr. Harper can't tell. Your hips, though, jerk with each thrust, up and into Robin's own. You must be more into this than he thought. Perhaps you'd expected it earlier, when the orphan had yelled and yelled about his memories at the docks. After all, you are Robin's closest friend. It would only be the right thing to do after everything you put him through.

Click!

Robin finally releases your face in favor of caging you in his arms, burying his face against your throat and swearing with rage. You let out a pained whimper and scratch at his shoulders. It only leaves thin, red lines that, really, probably feels incredible.

"I-Hah-Fuck-" Robin practically crushes you beneath him, hips a blur. A pulse runs through Dr. Harper's cock at the sight, stomach knotting as he jerks his hand faster and faster. He pants between clenched teeth, a beautiful harmony to the melody of gasps and groans before him, and when your desperate, tearful eyes meet his, the doctor twitches and sends his cum splattering against his clipboard.

From the way Robin buries himself into you not a second later and moans, Dr. Harper can't help but chuckle. He tucks his cock away and slips an extra sheet of paper over the report. The cum begins to smear the fresh ink, but he sets it aside in order to lean forward with his pen.

Click!

Robin slowly unravels in your arms, muscles going lax as he pulls his hips back. His cock slips out of your stretched hole with a soft shlick, sending a jolt through the doctor's spine. Anger still simmers in his gaze when you start to sit up, pulling your shirt up to shield your bare chest. Dr. Harper's smile only grows at the sight.

"I think," he announces, "that should be good for today. You've made some excellent progress, Robin."

Robin's slow blink does little to clear the fog in his eyes while he smiles. "Yeah...that's good."

"As for you." Dr. Harper points his pen at you and smiles when you shrink back in fear. "Thank you so much. Robin really needs your support, and this was a huge help."

Click!

"You're such a good friend."

Your puffy lips part, waver, then seal shut, head bobbing in a tiny nod before turning to Robin. The boy is already dressed and ready to leave the office, a dreamy smile on his face as he offers a hand to you. It takes you two seconds too long to take it.

Dr. Harper clicks his pen, smiling when two different pairs of eyes land on him. "Same time next week?"

"That works," Robin answers with a happy nod.

Beside him, your knuckles tighten. The smile you show him doesn't quite reach your eye. "I-I think I'll be busy-"

"Nonsense." Dr. Harper waves his hand and scoffs, thumbing the top of his pen until it clicks. "What could be more important than supporting your best friend?"

Under Robin's expectant gaze, you shrink back and whisper, "Nothing."

"Exactly." With that, Dr. Harper rises from his seat and presses a hidden button on his pager, the ding! resounding through the cramped office. He makes a show of grimacing at the blank screen, then offers the same apologetic smile as before. "Well,  I'll see you two next week then. Take care."

Once the door is locked, Dr. Harper picks up the report and grimaces. For Robin's file...eh, he can have an intern pen it out for him. You, on the other hand...Dr. Harper smiles and fishes out a blank report sheet, mind abuzz with treatment plans. Your hesitancy, non-compliance, neglecting the needs of your friends? All the signs of a troubled patient in the making. Hopefully he'll be able to intervene before you end up like Robin.

[luriluth]

today i blanked out and when i woke up its 12 am and realized i made all of these in one sitting

[cookie-nom-nom]

so I’m watching MAWSuperman and the public opinion on him is turning to more anti Superman sentiments and I’m just like. My guy. My dude. You’re a reporter. How are you losing the public opinion this badly. Like yah he’s a fumbling dork but come on man it’s basic PR! You can post fake interviews with Superman explaining “everything”! Your best friend has a popular YouTube channel use the fans! At the very least spend an hour prepping rhetoric and a narrative in case you are verbally ambushed like these aren’t new arguments being thrown at you! Jot down some counter arguments on a notecard I’m begging. This is basic debate stuff come on bro this is just embarrassing. HOW ARE YOU LOSING THE PROPAGANDA WAR YOURE A REPORTER.

[goldkirk]

.

[archerofunspeakablelove]

SpaceDogs was allegedly started because someone was trying to ship adam TOWERS with nigel and everyone played a game of telephone and got confused. don't get me wrong i love spacedogs but ADAM TOWERS AND NIGEL. GUYS!!! THE POTENTIAL

[grimgummies]

Not going to lie, I’m surprised the fandom isn’t eating up the new tone shift and characters’ struggles in ep5. Maybe I’m not looking in the right spaces but fandoms usually love that stuff.

I KNOW I mean the amount of angst art that was made prior to the episode really made me think people were gonna take everything from the new ep and run with it. Though that's not to say people didn't. I've seen plenty of people discuss what happened in the episode (especially regarding John and his daughter/his family in general,, people were going insane over that and I get it like we're getting deeper into what happened to him and his family which I'm also super interested in. Plus seeing his photos in Ignacio's house really got people discussing his connections/past with the cult and how there's such a specific focus on John).